Catch!
by Crescentium
Summary: Harry and Draco are on their seventh year, both are the Seekers and Captains of their respective Quidditch teams. This last year of school, Quidditch will play an important role in their lives and they will find that the game has much to teach them...
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: I've been toying with this story for some months now. After finally convincing myself that I will, in fact, finish this one day (in that my enthusiasm for the story shows no signs of dissipating and I have good chapter plans), I decided I could share it. I'll pace myself in posting new chapters (though I do have a few further ones in storage right now) because there may be longer gaps in between and I'd like to keep myself ahead a little bit.

Edited notes: Hah, it's been a long time since any updates, but I had to do a few minor edits to the first chapter. I haven't had time for writing new chapters. (Okay I admit it, what time I have had I have spent on other fandoms.) I'm still planning on finishing this one one day, because the story needs to be told.

**Foreword:**

Catch focuses mainly on Quidditch, Harry and Draco in an alternate timeline that deviates considerably from the canon. (Why? Because the canon timeline doesn't suit with my purposes; I need the boys to stay in school longer!)

Please note that the following recap will contain spoilers, for those who have not yet read (all of) the books.

It is Harry's and Draco's seventh year at Hogwarts. This story recognizes the majority of the events of the canon Harry Potter for the first five books. The sixth year, however, was very different for Harry and Draco. War against Lord Voldemort raged high and intense ever since the battle at the Department of Mysteries at the end of the fifth year. Some of the key events from both canon years six and seven happened during this year albeit in an altered form and at a quicker pace, others have been deleted entirely.

This time around, Lucius Malfoy was not caught and was never sent to Azkaban. Lord Voldemort never commanded Draco to kill Albus Dumbledore and thus Severus Snape never gave the Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa. Nothing has changed between Harry and Snape since fifth year. Dumbledore never died and Harry never left Hogwarts. (And most importantly, Fred Weasley never died! Hooray! Not that that has anything to do with this story, but I needed to say that. Because Fred Weasley must live. Ha!)

Harry and Dumbledore worked together to find and destroy the Horcruxes. They also destroyed Lord Voldemort together in the final battle at the end of the sixth year.

By the seventh year, everything has gone back to normal at Hogwarts. All the teachers retain their posts -- Dumbledore is still Headmaster and Snape is still Potions Master. Remus Lupin (who also survived the war) has been reinstated as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, his reputation greatly improved by heroism in the war. There is every reason to expect that the position is no longer cursed.

Now... there is time for Quidditch.

* * *

**::: Chapter One :::**

_Five years ago._

"...the youngest Seeker in a century!"

Draco Malfoy rolled his eyes and leaned back on the armchair, flopping his head on the cushions and sighing in exasperation. How many more times would he have to hear those words?

A mischievous smile appeared above him. "If you detest hearing it so much, why don't you do something about it?"

Draco frowned at Morag's amused expression. "Very funny, Mo," he said grudgingly. "You know, it's not like I wouldn't do something if I could."

"Aww, poor baby." Morag's voice was condescending and not at all sympathetic. She flopped one foot over the armrest of Draco's chair and leaned her arm behind his neck. Draco sat up a little and looked at her with a displeased frown.

"What do you suggest I do, then?" he asked. Even for his age he looked immature as he crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. Morag's lip curled in a sneer -- she really didn't like it when Draco behaved like this.

"You outplay him at his own game," she responded, knowing that the only way to get Draco out of this slump was to show him how to beat his enemy.

Draco stared at her. His interest was piqued. He shifted in the chair and looked at Morag more intently. "What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She loved this; sounding smart, knowing the answers before he even had the questions. She enjoyed the vexed yet curious expression on his face, making him wait until she dropped it on him, "You join the team as well, and beat him as a Seeker."

Draco's brows bobbed slightly, then he frowned as he considered it. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded. He started nodding, once, then several times, almost standing up on his chair, eagerness in his eyes. "You're right," he said. "I could do that. But..." His expression shifted toward disappointment, "even if they'll let me in the team Flint will never make me a Seeker before I've played on the team for at least a year. He's got that policy, you know..."

But Morag tossed her hand nonchalantly. "Pft, you just buy your way in."

"Buy?"

Morag rolled her eyes. Why was Draco being so dumb today? "Yes, buy. Your dad's rich, isn't he?" She smirked. "I think a new set of broomsticks would do wonders for the Slytherin team's motivation, wouldn't you agree?"

Now Draco was finally on to her plan. His lips curved to a delighted smile. "Nimbus 2001, maybe." He knew that was the top of the line, and newer and better than Potter's broomstick, besides.

Morag was smiling, pleased with herself. "If you hurry, you might get to play in the very next game."

Draco nodded and got up. "I'll owl my dad right away," he said, excitement in his voice. He could already see himself swooping over the Quidditch pitch on his brand new broomstick, sporting the Slytherin green. He grinned as he leaned over and planted a kiss on Morag's forehead, too overjoyed to notice her immediate disgust. "Thanks, Mo." And then he was away toward his room to write a note to his father.

Morag curled her lip and wiped the kiss off her forehead irritably. Most of the time Draco behaved in as composed and refined manner as she wanted him to, but other times... Morag shuddered in distaste as she slid down on the chair and picked up her wand, drawing nonsensical figures in the air with it.

* * *

_Now._

Draco squinted his eyes as he peered over the Quidditch field. Early morning dew rested on the grass and mist shrouded the goal hoops. It was a cold autumn but the Quidditch gear felt warm and comfortable against the inhospitable weather. If anything, the crisp air felt refreshing and Draco inhaled deep as he stood, looking across the empty field. It was too early for anyone to be up and about yet. The world stood still.

He remembered the first time he had stood in this very same spot, knowing that the later that day he would play Seeker for the Slytherin team for the first time in his life. He had been so sure that he would win. Yet, even in his outward certainty, a doubt had nagged at him. He remembered coming here before the game, before anyone else was even awake, just to look at the field. Feel its presence. Imagine the cheering crowd -- his father would be there, it was his first time on the pitch after all. He had tried to draw strength and courage from the magical atmosphere that rested over the field.

Then he had got on his broom. He'd taken a few turns around the field, tossed stones in the air and caught them for practice. He'd never missed catching a single stone. He remembered how proud he had been, how certain that he would catch the Snitch first. He, and not Potter.

Potter! Draco's mouth twisted into a snarl. He was always there to ruin everything, wasn't he? He was always there to humiliate him and steal his triumph. Like that first year, when it had already been certain that Slytherin would win the House Cup -- who was it that had gone and performed one of his publicity stunts and got Dumbledore fooled into giving Gryffindor extra points? Who else? Potter! Draco scowled at the field now, remembering every Quidditch match where Potter, the Amazing Potter, had caught the Snitch, time and again, right in front of Draco's nose. And even so, nothing burned him more than that very first time, when Draco, full of excitement and expectation, had stepped onto the pitch, only to suffer a humiliating loss in the hands of his worst enemy.

What had made the experience even more painful was that his father had been there to see it all. Draco had been excited about the game all day and had owled his father several times to make sure he'd remember to come. Lucius had seemed indifferent at first, but Draco knew his father had had great expectations nevertheless. After all, Lucius had been a star player for the Slytherin team when he had been to Hogwarts. It had been Draco's turn, or so he had thought. The look of blatant disappointment on Lucius' face had been painfully obvious to the young boy when he limped back from the field, Snitchless and humiliated. Lucius had not even come to pat his son on the shoulder and tell him he had done his best. By the time Draco had washed his face from the dirt Lucius had been gone.

To this day, Draco still remembered how frightened he had been to go back on the field for the next game. His father wasn't there, of course -- in fact, Lucius had not been to watch his son's games since -- but the thought of making a fool of himself again had haunted him ever since. He had got over his fear, of course, and tried to replace it with anger, but even so, without these visits to the field the morning before each game he wasn't sure if he would have been able to go through with them. Especially when they faced Gryffindor.

Like today. Draco drew in another breath of the chilly air and mounted his broom. Soon the seventh-year Slytherin Seeker soared in the air, flying high above the green grass, disappearing into the mist then reappearing, zigzagging in the air around the goal hoops. He forgot about everything else. Right now -- there was only this moment, concentration, exhilaration, expectation.

Below him someone else came to the field. The fog kept Potter from seeing Draco, and Draco obviously wasn't looking for Potter. Neither had the slightest idea that the other was there.

Harry didn't normally come to the pitch so early in the morning. He didn't normally practice on the day of the game; he didn't really need to, and Oliver had always told him it wasn't a smart idea anyway. He'd lose his edge. But today was an exception. His scar had been hurting all night. He'd seen nightmares -- terrible nightmares about the terrors of last year. He hadn't been able to sleep.

He wasn't sure why he decided to come to the Quidditch field. Perhaps it was because here, on the pitch, he had experienced some of the most carefree moments of his life. When he was flying it was as though the rest of the world disappeared, and there was just him and his broom. And, of course, the Snitch. But the Snitch brought an extra pressure to him that he didn't always like. Sometimes it was fun to fly for no other reason than to feel the wind blow through your hair. He often wondered if his father had felt the same way. He regretted that he'd never really got the chance to ask Sirius. Would Lupin know?

Shaking his head, Harry tried to push away those thoughts. They were only depressing him more. He got on his broom and kicked it off the ground angrily.

A little too angrily. His desire to be up in the air and the natural high spirited disposition of his broom combined with the angry kick upward caused the broom to shoot up like a shot arrow. He let out a little surprised gasp which soon turned into an even more surprised cry when all of a sudden another broom appeared as though out of nowhere, colliding with his.

Draco cried out as well when, in the middle of a particularly fast swoop he suddenly came into contact with Harry. Both tried to turn and avoid crashing, but the brooms had too much speed and swerved dangerously. Their shoulders bumped into one another, broomsticks collided and with a cry of shock the two Seekers tumbled and fell into a mass of red and green robes.

Draco was the first to struggle up, throwing off Harry's cloak that had wrapped around his face.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, Potter?" he cried, kicking at his own cloak which had taken his feet captive.

It was only by his voice that Harry recognised Draco. He had landed face down on the grass and had suffered a considerable blow to the jaw from Draco's broom. Rubbing his chin and dazed by the blow he looked up. Everything looked fuzzy -- he realised he'd lost his glasses. Hurting and not being able to see made him angry.

"What d'you mean what am _I_ doing?" Harry snapped as he, too, struggled to his feet. Draco, who had managed to get on his knees, lost his footing again as Harry pulled his cloak from under him while trying to get up.

They were both angry now.

"You don't shoot up in the air like that in the middle of the field without looking!" Draco fumed, leaning on one elbow and throwing the other arm up in the air. "You could've killed us both!"

"Well I didn't know anybody was up there, did I?" Harry challenged him at once, getting finally on his feet and dusting his cloak off. He stared at Draco but couldn't make out his expression. That made him feel more uncertain of himself, which in turn made him angrier. "What are you doing, flying in the fog so early anyway?"

Draco's face contorted with anger. He tried to get up again but when the cloak still seemed stuck, he unfastened it and sprang to his feet. How dare Potter, of all people, question his right to be on the pitch? It felt like a violation to something very private that had been only his for the past five years.

"That's really none of your business, Potter," he spat. "And besides, I could ask the same thing! Gryffindor hasn't booked the pitch this morning!"

In Harry's opinion, Malfoy sounded angry enough to go for his wand. The thought made him realise he was at a grave disadvantage because of his missing glasses. He looked around the grass but obviously couldn't see them anywhere. How could he find them without asking for Malfoy's help? Then his face brightened as he realised that he knew just the spell! He started groping around for his wand.

Unfortunately, Draco misunderstood his intention and whipped out his own wand immediately. He pointed it at Harry. Harry caught the movement even without the glasses and froze, his hand on the wand. He didn't dare draw it out.

The two boys stared each other down for a long moment. Draco's hand was shaking just slightly, but Harry couldn't see it. Draco was biting his lip. It suddenly dawned on him that he was holding the hated Potter at the tip of his wand. One flick and he could easily disarm him. Humiliate him, beat him, like Potter had so many times done to Draco. He knew it was forbidden, but the temptation tugged at his fingers.

Harry, for his part, was completely frozen. His heart was beating fast; he could hear the rush of blood in his ears. What was Malfoy going to do? What should he do himself? Should he try to quickly draw his wand to disarm his enemy? Or stay still and wait? Waiting had never come naturally to Harry. He hated being at anyone else's mercy. Especially Malfoy's. But he wasn't sure if he dared to risk it. Without his glasses, he couldn't see clearly. His spell might miss Malfoy.

Finally he decided to try something he didn't normally do. Talking.

"Malfoy," Harry's voice was tense, he could hear it and tried to clear his throat. "I was only going to get my glasses."

Draco's wand hand was still shaking. His desire to finally have one over Potter, finally win, was fighting his common sense. "What?" he croaked when Potter's words sank in.

"My glasses," Harry repeated. "I can't see without them. I was only going to... you know." He started to shrug, but when he saw the nervous flick of Malfoy's wand at the movement, he stopped. "I wasn't going to attack you."

_Though it's not because I didn't want to,_ he thought to himself irritably. Malfoy annoyed him. Malfoy was the one who had been careless and flying in the fog in the middle of the night, why should Harry be sorry about bumping into him? He was being unfair, but he didn't care at the moment.

Draco only now realised that Harry had lost his glasses during the fall. He studied the black-haired boy's face. It looked different without the glasses. Bare. Vulnerable.

"Well?" Harry's voice sounded irritable. "Are you going to curse me or can I get my glasses?" He had caught the hesitation -- if Malfoy was going to use his wand he'd have done it already.

Draco's lip curled in irritation. "Fine." He lowered his wand. But he didn't move his eyes from Potter even for a moment while the other boy slowly drew his wand and held it out.

"_Accio glasses_!" Harry cried and flicked his wand. In no time his glasses were in his hand, and he hurried to replace them on his face.

Meanwhile Draco glared at him, his wand half lifted, obviously ready for parry if Harry so much as flinched his wand in his direction. When Harry saw the hostile, suspicious look on the other boy's face he suddenly started feeling terribly amused. They had just nearly had a duel, and over what? Harry's glasses! His mouth twitched toward a smile.

"What's so funny?" Draco asked irritably. "You got a funny-looking crack in your glasses? I could make another one -- shape it like lightning, make it match with your scar."

Harry's smile disappeared and he scowled at his rival Seeker. "No," he said acidly, "I was just thinking how much like your father you are -- judging other people and their actions based on apperances."

"Don't talk about my father!" Draco cried, his wand rising again angrily. "You know nothing about him!"

"I know that he's narrow-minded and cruel," Harry retorted, his own wand now pointing directly at Draco's head. "And that's all I want to know!"

Their wands were now pointing at each other, the tips nearly touching, both hands trembling with repressed anger. Draco's silver eyes were cold as ice, Harry's green blazed with fury. At this sea of swelling emotions Draco managed to catch a hold of himself. What was he doing? He should be laughing Potter off, superior in this situation. Like his father would.

"Shows how broad _your_ mind is, Potter," he drawled.

Harry's eyes flashed and he opened his mouth for a retort, when suddenly a new voice joined in the conversation.

"Potter! Malfoy! What in the name of Quidditch are you two doing?"

Both boys jumped and turned to look. Harry closed his mouth and stared, then a grin spread on his face and he forgot all about Malfoy. He ran to the young man standing on the pitch, a good-natured smile on his face and a broom flung over his shoulder.

"Oliver!" Harry cried as he stopped in front of the man. "Oliver Wood!"

Draco stared in dumbfounded silence as the ex-Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team greeted Harry with a smile and a handshake. He couldn't believe it. Of all the people to stumble onto the scene, Oliver Wood was the last person he had expected.

Harry was as surprised as Draco, though he was also excited. He had grown quite fond of Oliver while they had still played together. He was of the opinion that Oliver was, by far, the best captain he had had -- even if Oliver's obsession with the game had sometimes bothered Harry. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I could ask the same from you two," Oliver said, eying Draco meaningfully. "Since when did the Slytherin and Gryffindor Seeker practice together -- and with their wands, no less?"

"Oh, we... we were just..." But as Harry glanced over his shoulder to Draco, he didn't quite know what they were "just".

"Fooling around." Draco quickly replaced his wand in his robes and walked closer, a smile on his lips now.

"Yeah." Harry wasn't sure if he liked Draco finishing his sentence like that. He looked at Oliver again, trying to ignore Draco. "But Oliver -- what are you doing here, at Hogwarts?"

Oliver smiled. "You two don't know?" His eyes sported a mischievous glint. "Then I don't think I'll tell you. The Headmaster probably wants to surprise you."

Draco's eyes narrowed suspiciously; Harry raised his brows. The two boys looked equally curious, however Harry knew better than to repeat his question. Oliver had always known how to hold on to a secret when he chose to.

"I'm glad to see you two are getting along, though," Oliver now went on. Harry wasn't sure if he was joking; surely Oliver realised he and Draco were really far from getting along. "You're the best two seventh year Quidditch players Hogwarts has got at the moment. I'd hate to see a silly thing like House loyalty get in the way of a good friendship."

Now both Harry and Draco stared at him. He had got to be joking. Quickly, Harry grabbed Oliver's hand and pinched the older boy. Oliver yowled and snatched his hand back, glaring at Harry.

"Oi! What was that for?"

Harry was grinning now. "I've got to make sure you're a real person and not one of Fred and George's Fantastic Phantoms or something." He laughed, then looked more suspicious. "You're not Fred on Polyjuice Potion either, are you?"

"No!" Oliver glowered at him.

"Well, sorry." Harry smiled a bit. "It's just, the Oliver Wood I remember would never have suggested Gryffindor players fraternizing with Slytherins."

Oliver shrugged. "When you play at my level, you learn that sometimes you've got to look beyond individual teams to the bigger picture."

Harry gave him an odd look. "What bigger picture?"

Oliver grinned at him. "You'll find out."

"Right," Draco said, "I've had enough of this mysterious babble. See you round, Wood." Politely he nodded to the young man before starting to walk past him. Oliver threw him a strange look.

"Yes we will," he commented. Draco slowed his step and glanced over his shoulder, but then continued walking, frowning slightly.

No matter how hard he tried, Harry was unable to persuade Oliver to reveal anything more even after Draco had gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**: Chapter Two :**

At dinner, the Great Hall of Hogwarts filled with students as usual, however it seemed there was something quite unusual to expect. There were two visitors sitting at the teacher's table at the other end of the hall. Students kept glancing up and sideways to them, sizzling with curiosity. They all recognised the visitors; they were former students of Hogwarts. One of them was Oliver Wood. The other one Harry didn't remember from his own time but Ron soon provided that her name was Desirèe Amon, a former Slytherin Seeker who was now playing for the Holyhead Harpies.

Once all students had taken their seats, Dumbledore stood and raised his hands. A hushed silence fell in the hall. The Headmaster smiled. "Dear students," he said with a warm voice, "I have an announcement to make. It is one which, I suppose, should have been given at the beginning of term but due to some unfortunate delays can be released to your knowledge only now."

Harry tried to catch Oliver's eye across the hall but the young man kept looking elsewhere. Harry could not help but get the feeling it was intentional.

"I'm sure all of the older students will remember the Triwizard Tournament which was held here at Hogwarts only three years ago," the Headmaster went on. "Encouraged by the success of the Tournament, the Department of Magical Games and Sports has planned a new event for this year."

The Headmaster let his eyes wander and the students shifted on their stools in suspense. Harry could not help but think that Dumbledore was clever to have conveniently not mentioned that this event, whatever it was, was probably at least half designed to take the students' minds off the traumatic events of the past few years. Partially it was probably also a way to celebrate the second--and final--victory of Lord Voldemort.

Dumbledore went on. "Dear students, I will give it to you in five words: the inter-school championships," here the Headmaster paused for dramatic effect, "of Quidditch."

Now a wave of excited murmurs passed over the mass of students. Harry finally managed to lock eyes with Oliver. The young man winked to him with a smug smile. Harry's heart started beating a little faster. Quidditch championships! That meant that there would be a school team.

"_That's_ why Wood and Amon are here," Ron whispered excitedly to Harry's ear, practically reading his best friend's mind. "They're going to help select the school team!"

Harry had to confess to himself being surprised of Ron's uncharacteristically quick wit. He nodded, his eyes still lingering on Oliver. "Maybe coach it, too," Harry murmured.

"Yeah! Wouldn't that be brilliant?" Ron was grinning.

"You're not thinking of trying for the school team, are you?" hissed Hermione's voice from next to Ron, holding on to his arm. Both boys turned to stare at her like she had just grown a pair of antlers.

"You daft, 'mione?" Ron asked. "Of _cours_e we're going to try for the team!"

"Why wouldn't we?" Harry chimed in, equally confused.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You two just don't get it, do you?" she hissed. "Don't you realise that this is your last year of school? You should be putting your efforts into planning for your future careers, not flying around on stupid broomsticks!"

Now both boys looked deeply offended. "Really, 'mione," Ron started, but Harry motioned him silent when he caught what the Headmaster was saying next.

"The school team will be selected by Mr Wood and Miss Amon. They will take sign-ups and give more information about the qualification system after breakfast to those who are thinking about trying for the team. The students selected to the team will receive special leave in the coming months when deemed necessary. The championship tournament itself will be held directly after the Christmas break--in Durmstrang."

This announcement caused a great sigh of disappointment throughout the tables; the students had clearly eagerly waited to hear that Hogwarts would host the tournament. The Headmaster was not finished, however.

"All this will, of course, affect the schedule of the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. The games will be exceptionally held in four successive weekends, beginning from today's match of Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Both of these teams will also compete in the following two weekends against the two other teams. The last match will be that of Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw. I know this will come as a shock to our players, but Mr Wood and Miss Amon have assured me that they will be happy to answer all questions concerning the reasons behind this arrangement. On my behalf--I wish you all a very good breakfast."

The Headmaster sat down again even while the murmur continued. It was obvious that most of the students were not happy to hear that the Hogwarts games would be arranged so close together and even less pleasure surfaced from the knowledge that Hogwarts would not host the championships. Harry exchanged glances with Ron; the Gryffindor Keeper's expression was more nervous and less pleased now. Harry, for his part, wasn't sure how he felt. On the one hand he was glad that he would get more time to concentrate on the championships, on the other he was worried if he would have the time to prepare his team for all three games. He had mixed feelings about the location of the tournament, too. He had never visited Durmstrang so the suggestion was fascinating; yet he could not help but feel a certain sense of disappointment. Had it not been Hogwarts that had been the center stage of the war against Lord Voldemort? Should it not have been their prerogative to host the championships that celebrated victory over him?

Unconsciously Harry's eyes travelled toward the Slytherin table, where he was surprised to find Draco looking at him. The two Seekers met each other's eyes. Draco's face held an icy expression and Harry realised suddenly that there would be an added weight to the match this time. Draco and Harry were the two top Seekers in Hogwarts at the moment. They would be rivals for the single Seeker's position in the Hogwarts Championship Team.

"I don't suppose there's any way I can change your minds about this," Hermione said, interrupting Harry's thoughts. She seemed thoroughly displeased.

Ron grinned at his girlfriend. "No, I don't think there is, 'mione. And besides, I'll still have all spring to catch up for the finals, don't I?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. When Harry turned to look at her, she shook her head to him. "I always knew Ron didn't take his academic career seriously," she said pointedly, "but I'd have thought you'd have more wits."

Ron looked offended at this. Harry smiled to Hermione. He knew she spoke like this only because she was so worried about the two of them. Still, she might have laid off it sometimes.

"It's my last year of carefree school life," Harry said just as pointedly. "D'you seriously think I'm going to spend it with my face buried in books?"

"Carefree?" Ron gave a snort. "Since when has our school life been carefree, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "Well," he said as he chewed down on his sandwich, "all the more reason to enjoy this year to the fullest."

Hermione sighed but said nothing. Ron dominated the conversation after that, talking about the Championships and wondering who was going to apply for the team and who would make it--certainly no Slytherins would and better yet, he boasted, it would be an all-Gryffindor team--but Harry hardly listened aside from the occasional nod to show interest. His eyes kept wandering to the Slytherin table, where he saw Draco busily talking with the lean black youth, Blaise Zabini. Blaise had made it to the Slytherin team the previous year as a Chaser and was so good at it that it had surprised Harry.

Blaise was not the one that preoccupied Harry's mind at the moment, however. He evaluated Draco Malfoy with his eyes quietly, considering his lean body and slender fingers which flicked and darted on the table as he explained something to Blaise. Harry's eyes lingered on those pale fingers. They looked like the perfect tools for catching the Snitch. They had won every game for Slytherin last year, all save for one--Harry had been quicker when Slytherin and Gryffindor had met. Though overall Harry had caught the Snitch more often than Draco, Harry found himself suddenly worried. Draco had become steadily better and he did have the perfect physique for the job. Harry himself had grown more muscle and height over the past years. He was still not exceptionally tall or broad-shouldered, but he knew he was heavier than Draco. Last year he had caught the Snitch only barely before Draco and even Harry had to admit that it had been luck more than skill that had landed him the Snitch that time.

Which Seeker would be chosen? Harry looked over his shoulder to Oliver and Desirèe who were engaged in a lively conversation. They seemed to get along well and this made Harry nervous, especially when he recalled the meeting with Oliver earlier that morning. Oliver had been talking about comradeship between the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Was this what he had had in mind? Had he said it because he had known that players from different Houses would have to work together in the Championship Team?

It was difficult for Harry to see how that could ever work. Even more puzzling was the way Oliver had seemed to encourage Draco and Harry to see beyond their rivalry. Harry could not see the point in that. After all, both of them could not be the Team Seeker. Certainly, one of them would undoubtedly be cast as the reserve Seeker, but that position was not likely to amount to anything.

But then, why did Harry worry about it? He had always been able to beat Draco before, why not now? He was the youngest Seeker in a century, he was gifted. If anyone should worry, it was Draco. Harry felt a little better when he thought about it. Draco had always been the one to have to prove himself, why should it be any different now? Harry failed to see any conceit in his thinking. He was simply better, had always been, and he saw no reason why he would not continue to be so. No, if someone should be concerned it was Draco. In fact, Harry _wanted_ Draco to be concerned. That would keep the other boy on edge, and it would give Harry all the advantages. All Harry really needed to do was to keep a cool head about it.

On the other side of the hall Harry was getting just what he wanted: Draco had fingered his table napkin nervously until it had become a ball in his hands. The grey eyes darted now and again toward the Gryffindor table where Harry had now turned to talk with Ron. Draco narrowed his eyes and his fingers closed around the ball. For a moment he imagined it was the Snitch, freshly caught, right from under Harry's nose... then he let out a breath and opened his fist, looking at the ball on his palm. If only. Draco had beaten every other Seeker in the school, all except for Harry. He could not understand how the green-eyed devil did it, how he always managed to beat him, so often at the last minute.

It was infuriating! But it was also discouraging. Draco stared hard at the paper ball on his palm. He could hear his friends' conversation bubbling around him but he hardly noticed. What was it about that Potter? What sort of gods had looked down on him the day he was born and given him this magic, this charm that seemed to ensure his victory, no matter the odds?

"It's all just luck, you know," said then a voice right behind Draco, and the blond boy jumped a little and looked over his shoulder. Morag's mischievous eyes smiled at him and she leaned over, picked up the paper ball from his palm and held it up with her slender fingers. Draco looked at her from under his brows--how was it that she always seemed to read his mind? He wasn't that obvious, was he?

"You saying I need to out-luck him?" Draco asked with a sarcastic tone and harrumphed a little at the notion.

Morag wrinkled her nose to her friend. She was standing next to the Slytherin table with her best friend and fellow Ravenclaw, Sophia Fawcett. Blaise Zabini and a few other Slytherins turned to look at Morag as she now produced her wand and tapped the paper ball in her hand gently, whispering an incantation as she did so. Immediately a golden flicker passed over the paper ball and with a final sparkle the ball had been turned into a perfect copy of a Snitch. Morag smiled, looking thoroughly pleased with herself, and offered the Snitch out for Draco to see.

"No," she said softly, "you out-skill him, of course." She looked expectantly at Draco as she let the Snitch loose. It whirred still in the air for a fraction of a second, then it darted forward, toward her, circled her head once and immediately zoomed right toward Pansy Parkinson who was sitting next to Draco. Pansy started and opened her mouth for a gasp--but the Snitch never made contact.

Draco's hand had been so quick he had hardly noticed its movement himself before his fingers had closed around the fake Snitch. He stared at the golden ball as he brought it in front of his face and watched the little shimmering wings uselessly trying to escape from his grasp. He could hear Morag's pleased laugh even while Blaise patted him on the shoulder.

"You see," Morag said as she leaned over and wrapped her arm around Draco's shoulders, pulling him a little toward herself, "all you've got to do is see beyond the luck." She flicked her wand again over the Snitch and it turned back into a paper ball.

Draco examined the paper ball for a moment, then turned his head a little and looked over the hall to the Gryffindor table. He locked eyes with Potter immediately. Harry was staring at him quietly. He saw the green eyes darting briefly to the paper ball in his hand and Draco knew that Harry had seen him catch it. Was it a shadow of insecurity he saw there? Before Draco could tell Ron had elbowed his best friend and Harry had turned away again.

Morag had been watching the stare-down with a thoroughly amused expression. When Draco turned to look at the paper ball again she smiled. "This should be interesting," was all she said before she straightened herself and then let her hand slide on Draco's shoulder as she started to walk away. One wave of the hand over her shoulder was all the goodbye she would give before she was gone. She had already eaten and she had no interest in the tournament. She was certain she would get all the details from Draco later.

All the teachers and more and more students left the hall as the breakfast drew toward its end. A good number of students remained--they were all Quidditch players, interested in applying for the school team. Harry looked around curiously. He saw his entire team there, which was no surprise. All of the players from all four House Teams were there. What was slightly more surprising was that also some students who were not in the House Teams remained, clearly hopeful. Harry realised that he had been selfish in his assumption that only the House Team players would be allowed to apply for the school team.

"All right, listen up, everyone!" Oliver Wood shouted over the noise caused by the bubbling conversations of the applicants. Immediate silence fell over the hall. Oliver looked pleased. "Now, for those of you who might not know our names, I am Oliver Wood and this is Desirèe Amon. We were once students here at Hogwarts, as some of you may know. Currently we're professional Quidditch players, and that's why we're here. Last summer when the plans for the inter-school championships were being laid out, Headmaster Dumbledore contacted us and asked us if we would be interested in coaching the school team together."

He glanced at Desirèe who was now standing next to him, looking serious and matter-of-fact. She spared but a brief smile to Oliver.

"We will be selecting the players for the school team through a series of trials," Desirèe now continued. "The trials will be arranged one week after the last game of Quidditch--that being the match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. They will last for one week, after which the list of players accepted to the team will be posted and the training will begin. We will have one month to train before the tournament begins."

"I guarantee you it will be a busy two and half months of Quidditch ahead of us," Oliver continued and Harry wasn't sure what to think of how the two seemed to be speaking in a perfect continuum. He wondered if they would end each other's sentences, too. The thought made him smile. Oliver's sharp look to his direction made his smile fade, however. "And let me assure you, if you plan to make it to the school team you will have to work hard."

Harry did not like the way Oliver seemed to be looking directly at him when he said it. Harry shifted a little but steeled himself when he realised that Draco was sneering at him from across the hall.

"I'll be honest," Oliver went on, "the reason why the schedule is so brutal is because we want to test you. The tournament lasts for only two weeks. That means that for two weeks you will concentrate on Quidditch and only Quidditch. We will draw every last drop of sweat out of you during those two weeks and maybe a little drop of your souls as well. You will have to prove to us that you have what it takes to make it through those two weeks and still come out as the winners." Oliver let his eyes bore into his audience. "Because make no mistake, boys and girls, we're going out there to _win_."

Harry had to smile--this sounded more like the old Oliver Wood he remembered. He saw some of the younger players who had not played Quidditch during Oliver's Captainship shiver a little. Berry Beans, Harry's newest Chaser--fifth year student--looked particularly pale. Harry felt a wave of compassion. He was certain Berry would not make it to the school team. She was good enough a Chaser, but Harry didn't think she'd have enough stamina for Wood's crazy schedule.

Frankly Harry had to wonder if he'd have enough himself.

"Right," Oliver said, "we'll be taking in your sign-ups now." Desirèe produced a stack of parchments and quills while Oliver went on. "Please write down your name, your age and your House and describe your Quidditch career so far. You can write down anything you think might help your cause but at least tell us if you are or have been in your House Team and what place you have played there."

There was the usual confusion that always seems to arise when a group of people are dealt out forms to fill out, but eventually everyone had got their forms and the hall was silent aside from the sound of quills scratching on parchment. While Ron scribbled away happily next to him, Harry stared at his application in silence for a long moment. Finally he jotted down his name and other essentials and then paused again. It felt strange to have to write about his Quidditch career. He hardly met anyone who would not have known that he had been a Seeker since his first year, with special permission, and that he was now the Captain of Gryffindor team, anticipated to lead his team to victory for the seventh year in a row.

His eyes found Draco Malfoy across the hall again. This time the other boy was not looking up. He sat bent over his application, one hand cradled over the paper, the other twirling the quill thoughtfully. Grey eyes were sweeping over the parchment in that nervous, quick manner which Harry had learned to interpret as a sign of nervousness. This made Harry smile again with a certain air of arrogance. He went through Draco's list of achievements in his mind and easily found it wanting in comparison to his own. Harry looked down at his own application. Surely Oliver didn't really need elaboration to know his achievements, especially since his only serious competition was Draco.

With a kind of mischievous smile Harry simply wrote down,

_The youngest Seeker in a century. Captain of the Gryffindor House Team since sixth year._

And there it was. Harry smiled, quite pleased with himself, and stood up. As though sensing his movement Draco looked up from his own application. The grey eyes watched every step as Harry walked through the hall to Oliver to hand in his application. Harry enjoyed the look he knew was full of hatred and irritation--he could practically smell Draco's insecurity. Just before he reached Oliver Harry turned around and met Draco's eyes, grinning. His self confidence made Draco's face twist and the grey eyes turned to the parchment again. Thus victorious, Harry was still grinning when he handed in his application to Oliver.

It was impossible to say what Oliver thought as he took a look at the application and then put it away. Harry was a little disappointed at his former Captain's indifference. Oliver knew his achievements; surely he should have indicated that the application procedure was but a formality in Harry's case? After all, there could not be a better Seeker. But Harry received no such confirmation from Oliver. When he looked at Draco again he saw the blond boy busily writing his application, a concentrated expression on his face.

Harry brushed his hair back with one hand. He told himself not to worry. There was no better Seeker at Hogwarts than Harry Potter.

Right?


End file.
